


Bitter Candy

by loveinallthismess



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 17:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14501838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinallthismess/pseuds/loveinallthismess
Summary: “I found something.”Armie holds up a little baggie filled with something white, shakes it under Timmy’s nose for a second before palming and pocketing it again.“Did I just… was that fucking Molly?”





	Bitter Candy

_and i will awake, your highness i’m so high i cannot walk_

 

Sweat glistens on skin, alternate pulses of red and blue as lights phase with the pounding beat. The crush of bodies writhe, a living mass shifting against one another. Eyes hidden in intermittent darkness as hands and mouths play on strangers; couples for one night only. Timmy sways, moves with the crowd as they bump against him. A swatch of glitter glistens wet on his cheek, curls clinging oil-slick to his forehead, matted at the back of his neck.

The fog machine and the light show are way too much in his opinion. Haze settling over the throng of people like mist rolls over the Hudson on a crisp morning. Shapes and casual touches blur together, and he startles when a hand grabs his shoulder with purpose, fingertips biting into his skin.

“Where the fuck have you been, man?” Timmy raises his voice to an almost yell to be heard over the shitty remix DJ Whatever is currently pumping out.

Armie’s shirt is damp in patches - maybe from sweat, maybe a spilled drink – hair unintentionally coiffed as he runs his fingers through it. He has two beers clutched in his hand and Timmy has never been so grateful to see someone in his fucking life. He makes grabby hands and Armie passes over one of the bottles, mouth falling open into a laugh Timmy can’t hear, but he likes the way it lights up Armie’s eyes. He downs half in one go, belch rising as he flicks his head back to get the hair out of his face.

“You’re welcome.” Armie’s deep bass sits under the wail of the music, rumbles Timmy’s chest as if it was on surround also. This close Armie creates a blockade as the crowd jostles around them. Warmth radiates from his torso and Timmy actively stops himself from leaning in. Armie does it for him, bending to speak directly into Timmy’s ear, mouth barely grazing the delicate skin of his lobe, eliciting what Timmy hopes is an imperceptible shudder.

“I found something.”

Timmy turns to face him, raising an eyebrow. The movement feels sluggish, beer sitting heavy in his stomach on top of three Jack and cokes and a few shots of tequila. Armie holds up a little baggie filled with something white, shakes it under Timmy’s nose for a second before palming and pocketing it again.

“Did I just… was that fucking Molly?”

“What, you think it took me 45 minutes to get two beers?”

Timmy doesn’t know how to respond, but he doesn’t have to when Armie grabs his wrist and leads him to the back. The shock of fluorescent bulbs is almost blinding after the mostly muted lighting of the dance floor and Timmy blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust, resting wearily against the sink. Lids drooping as the world spins slightly.

His eyes pull open again when the lock springs shut with a loud clack. They’re in the disabled bathroom – weird since the club has stairs but no ramps – and the space between them, even in this small room, still feels like too much after the forced closeness of the dance floor. His bare arms sprout gooseflesh and Timmy shivers slightly, both from the stark coldness of the bathroom and Armie’s hand as he strokes a thumb across Timmy’s exposed collarbone, suddenly much closer than he was a second ago.

The hand slides from his collarbone, down his arm, to his elbow as Armie moves him out of the way, tossing the baggie, a credit card, and what appears to be a pre-rolled bill onto the counter. He makes quick work of tipping out the powder, using the card to split it into two misshapen lines.

Like a gentleman Armie offers the rolled bill to Timmy first, but he makes no move to take it. Armie shrugs, leaning over the counter. One quick snuff and a line disappears.

“Fuck!” Armie rubs his nostril, mucus rattling as he sucks in before spitting a wad of phlegm into the sink.

Armie playfully waves the bill in front of Timmy again, but seeing no movement, “fine, suit yourself,” leans back over to do the other line.

Timmy reaches out a hand to stop him, grabbing the bill and bending over the counter himself, Armie’s body solid against his side.

His nose is on fire, the back of his throat burning and foul as it goes down. He hacks for a second before thumping a fist against Armie’s chest.

“You fucker, that hurts!”

Armie laughs, hands coming up to brace hot and large at Timmy’s waist. “Sorry,” he’s still giggling and Timmy doesn’t think he’s sorry at all. “Have you never done that before? You should have seen your face.”

Timmy extricates himself from Armie’s grip. He’s not mad, but he’s a little peeved. “I’ve done E, but I haven’t snorted it before. You could have told me it was going to hurt.”

“Yeah, well you don’t wanna be snorting E.” Armie looks at him seriously, suddenly a camp counsellor giving out drug advice, until a roguish smile breaks through, “but this shit is way better than E.”

“Is my nose bleeding. Fuck I think my nose is bleeding.” In the mirror Timmy’s cheeks are ruddy. Perspiration is beading on his brow, his top lip. He prods at his face, wiping under his nose.

Armie starts laughing again. Shaking his head.

“You’re fine. It’ll start to hit you in a few minutes. Trust me, it’s a lot faster this way.”

Armie’s eyes are so blue and Timmy wants to swim in them like they’re the fucking ocean.

“I trust you.” The answer comes almost too quick; let’s not open that can of worms.

“Good. Let’s go dance.”

“You hate dancing.” Timmy’s nose is still twitching, but the burn has chased away the spins from the alcohol.

“I like dancing with you.”

On the dance floor the lights seem to curve, hang as if suspended mid-air, like lightning before the crack of thunder. The bass is turned all the way up and it feels like a kick drum is balanced on Timmy’s chest – boom boom boom – as the music swells. Like everywhere else, Armie stands out a head taller than the crowd as he moves almost to the beat.

He knows he’s not slick at all, but the idea is there and insistent to teach Armie a little something, something. Timmy puts his hand on Armie’s hips and Armie doesn’t even flinch. Just pulls Timmy in, wraps him up warm and safe and Armie is so broad and tall and Timmy rests his head on Armie’s chest and his skin crackles like a livewire.

They’re touching everywhere and nowhere. The cotton of Armie’s tee catches rough against Timmy’s cheek when all he wants is the glide of bare skin. Armie’s hand trails down his spine, tugging him closer as they start a lazy grind. His other hand burns, grip on Timmy’s bicep strong enough to blanch flesh. That touch sets off the buzz. It hums throughout Timmy’s body until his very blood is pulsing with red-hot want.

Armie is thick and hard, height difference pressing him against Timmy’s lower belly.

“You are so beautiful.”

Hot. Wet. Mouth.

“So fucking beautiful. You don’t even know.”

Armie’s fingers stroke his face with divine reverence. Smearing the glitter, sparkles an enhanced sheen on Armie’s lower lip as he drags his mouth over Timmy’s cheekbone. Tongue lapping at the salty-sweet taste of him.

Timmy feels more than hears himself moan, and Armie must feel it too, hand falling from his lower back down to cup Timmy’s ass through his tight jeans.

He can do nothing but pant and destroy every sensibility he has trying to hook a leg up around Armie’s hip, desperate to bring them to the same level so he can grind his own hardness into Armie’s.

And then it’s cold and Armie is pulling him along, fingers tangled loosely saying, “let’s get out of here.”

They somehow retrieve their jackets from coat check. Timmy wrapped in both his Gucci and Armie’s Armani as he teeters on the sidewalk before a steady arm drops around his shoulders and he’s being guided into a cab. Even with the double coats, the slap of cold air has him coming down slightly, eyes clearing and a dull throb already intrusive at the base of his skull.

Streetlights strobe through the window, framing Armie in a hazy golden halo. Timmy drums his fingers on the seat. A gentle quiet descends; white noise a smothering pressure on his eardrums. The absence of sound as notable as the sounds themselves. Armie’s slightly laboured breathing, the faint hum of late night radio, the ever-present honking because it is New York after all.

Armie’s spit is drying tacky on his face and Timmy doesn’t know what to do with his hands. To cup the obvious bulge in Armie’s jeans. To sneak beneath the too-tight t-shirt clinging to Armie’s broad back, the arms he wants around him. To pull Armie’s hair for real. To kiss him _for real_.

They remain a respectful distance, noting the cabbie peering into the rear-view mirror, eyes narrowing at the two men in the back of his cab at 3:07am on a Wednesday morning. Finally they arrive and Timmy spills out onto the curb, legs almost folding beneath him. Armie hauls him up, laughing uproariously and passing a tip way too large through the open window.

In Armie’s hotel room Timmy doesn’t know what’s on offer. If he’d had the wherewithal to lead them back to his apartment it may have put them on equal footing, but in this unfamiliar space Armie has the power. To offer; to take.

The coat draped around him sits heavy on his shoulders, falls mid-thigh, and smells of Armie. His cologne deep and woodsy, heady in Timmy’s nose as he wraps the coat tighter around himself. He flops backward onto the bed. It smells like Armie – Armie Armie Armie – surrounding him, grounding him. The sheets slide silky against his fingers as he burrows into warmth and security. The pillow is sharp and floral – don’t want that, don’t want to think about that – and he tosses it aside, pulling the other pillow close and nuzzling into the right smell.

The bathroom door opens, light spilling out and illuminating Timmy’s little love nest. He groans as it hits his eyes, sensitive and wanting the safety of the dark. Armie barely more than an outline as Timmy peeks through his lashes, backlit as he steps toward the bed.

“What are you doing?” Armie asks lightly.

“Mmm, it’s warm,” Timmy stretches out his legs, luxuriating in the space of the king mattress before curling tight around the pillow, hiding his face. Armie adjusts the bathroom door so the beam of light isn’t shining directly onto him.

“Yeah? You all cosy there, wrapped up in my coat?”

The bed rocks as Armie sits, bracing a hand next to Timmy as he reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp, globe diffused and not blinding. Timmy places his palm on top of Armie’s, twining their fingers together and tugging until the hand raises to cup his face, card through his hair. Timmy smiles, but Armie’s face is impassive.

Armie kisses like an ambush. An overwhelming onslaught which Timmy eagerly absorbs. Steel arms encircle him tugging him upright and into Armie’s lap. Hand in his hair an insistent pull until he submits, bares his neck for Armie’s eager mouth. Pure euphoria as that hot wet mouth trails with breathtaking tenderness across the hollow of his throat, down his sternum as Armie stretches the already loose collar of his t-shirt.

“Fuck,” escapes Timmy’s lips, quiet but staccato. “Fuck. Please.”

He squirms as Armie rucks up his top, pushing the layers of coats aside and off. Loosening the iron hold of Timmy’s knees at his waist, Armie flips them, laying Timmy gently on the bed before crowding over him. Placing a hand on Timmy’s bare stomach, abdominals tensing below his touch as the hand continues downward to rub over where Timmy is hard in his jeans.

“Is this what you want?” Armie’s gaze is steely, the pressure of his hand increases, friction pulling a sharp gasp from Timmy.

“I want you.” The answer is obvious, overplayed, but in this heightened state Timmy doesn’t know how to ask for anything else. His skin aches, blistering and tight with Armie the only balm. He tugs Armie’s hand until their skin is in contact again, Armie’s fingers dipping below the waistband of his pants.

Armie chuckles darkly, lips pulled rigid. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The room tilts on its axis. Vision a blur of hotel bedsheets as Armie forces him over onto his stomach, yanking at his jeans in one fell swoop. Timmy’s hips are narrow, but the jeans are tight and he hurriedly fumbles to pop the button, zip undoing on its own with another harsh tug from Armie. Underwear pulled roughly until it sits just below his ass before a resounding slap echoes against his flesh.

Timmy bites back a sob as Armie sucks at the red mark left behind, teeth and spit playing on his skin. Timmy tries to get his knees beneath him, but the jeans pulled to mid-thigh have him trapped. At Armie’s mercy.

“I need you to touch me,” his voice is choked, pleading.

“Where?” Armie’s movements cease, tone raw as he asks.

“Everywhere.” Tears build in Timmy’s eyes as he struggles to turn his head, needing to see Armie. “Everywhere,” he repeats, “all the time.” The pounding in his chest finally lessons as Armie lowers himself, blankets Timmy’s body and hugs him close, rolling to the side so he doesn’t crush him.

“I can’t pretend this isn’t real,” he breathes the words, bruised and aching into Timmy’s curls. “You have to go.” He rolls away, climbing off the bed and retreating back to the bathroom, leaving Timmy alone and exposed.

Timmy pulls up his jeans, soft and self-conscious, sliding off the bed himself and picking up his coat from the floor, still entwined with Armie’s. His head throbs like his brain has swelled, pressing tight against his skull, the back of his eyes. He shudders, but not from the cold. Coming down has never felt like this.

**Author's Note:**

> all i wanted to do was write some drug-fueled fucking, but then feelings somehow got in the way.
> 
> come say hi at paradiseorpurgatory.tumblr.com


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